the perfect bowl of noodle soup

i had the strangest dream the other night that left me all mopey and sad the whole day.

i dreamt that i cooked up the perfect bowl of noodle soup. and no, it was not like one of those simple and tasty recipes. it was hearty soups that had all kinds of things in it. a nice savoury broth. perfectly chopped veggies and all the good stuff in it. perfectly cooked noodles – not the kind that’s too thick, not the kind that’s too slippery, not the kind that’s all stuck together – i’m talking about perfect noodles.

it was a bright and sunny day. the radio was playing those soulful 80s songs in the background. and i had all the right ingredients. it was all i had. and it was all i needed. and just enough of them to make that one single bowl of perfect noodle soup. just enough.

and when it was done, i poured the whole thing into a beautiful bowl, put a spoon on the side and balanced a pair of chopsticks on the edge.

and i carried this wonderful bowl of noodle soup to find the perfect place to sit down and enjoy it. i was filled with awesome happiness. everything in the world was beautiful. nothing can define happiness better when you know you’ve made the absolute perfect bowl of noodle soup and the hard work has come to this one perfect moment.

and so i carried this bowl and walked and walked and walked. in my mind i knew the perfect place for such an occasion. the wonderful aroma of spices from the bowl of noodle soup filled my journey.

and then i tripped.

and fell.

and spilled by bowl of noodle soup.

my knee and elbows hurt from the fall. but more than that, the tsunami of sadness from seeing my wonderful bowl of perfect noodle soup all over the ground. all the ingredients scattered on the dirt and grass and floor. my noodles all tangled up. my bowl broken. my chopsticks separated.

i woke up with an unbelievable sense of heaviness. in fact, in that first few hours of being awake, as i washed and got ready of work, i was still in shock over losing my perfect bowl of noodle soup.

and if you only knew how absolutely perfect that bowl of noodle soup was, and how rarely you come across a meal that contained so much happiness in a bowl, then you would understand the state of sadness, it was almost like mourning, i was in the whole day.

J said that my subconscious is revealing some perspective on my life. and that what i need to do now is gather all the right ingredients and make that perfect bowl of noodle soup.

and we need to eat the noodle soup this time, he tells me.


men. all they think about are their stomachs.


2 thoughts on “the perfect bowl of noodle soup

  1. I think you had a glimpse of Heaven . . .

    I had a weird dream too last week! I was in some strange exhibition or gathering, not quite sure where and why, but Jeremy Clarkson, the BBC motoring journalist of Top Gear was showing the crowd a trick. On tv he and his crew are always wrecking or blowing up old cars for the fun of it.

    Anyways, he picks up this huge iguana, and got a meat cleaver, sliced the iguana in half! But symmetrically head to tail, like butter. Then each half began crawling on the table chasing the other half, like you see how dogs chase the tails, round and round. ( nevermind how they can walk having only a front leg and a back foot!) then quickly, one half caught up with the other, the head began to swallow the other tail and then the whole body! It was hilarious at the same time sick!

    Then i woke up.

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